To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,55

had avoided being caught.

His brother Jeremy had often spoken of the adrenaline he’d felt on missions, particularly dangerous ones, and how alive it made him feel.

John felt vulnerable.

Alive, yes, but vulnerable.

It wasn’t something he looked forward to feeling again. There was a reason he was more of an asset than an operative, and he looked forward to returning to that role.

Pushing into his bedchamber, nearly staggering with the fatigue that was catching up to him, he fumbled with the cravat around his neck, somehow still maintaining its ridiculous shape and style after all he’d been through. Yet it also came loose with remarkable ease once he removed the pin.

A flash of memory from earlier in the evening appeared before him, seeming to be days ago rather than hours. Hal smiling at the knotted linen, her deft fingers plucking out the pin and assisting him with its adjustment so that the evening might be more comfortable for his neck. She’d placed it back, and somehow the heat of her hands had seeped through the fabric straight to John’s throat, leaving it parched and aching for relief.

She was afraid, she had said, but she hadn’t given a reason. Hadn’t confided that far, though the admission of fear seemed monumental.

She hadn’t seemed afraid in their dance; on the contrary, she’d been more alive than he’d ever seen or felt, more real and tangible than anything he could bear witness to.

She hadn’t been afraid in the darkness listening to the Faction members; she had been the one consoling him, though he had felt the slightest tremble in her frame as he’d held her close, as his lips had been at her skin.

John shuddered now and sank onto his bed. Where was Hal? Was she safe and whole? Had she escaped without detection, as he had?

Was she even now afraid?

He squeezed his eyes shut, averting his gaze in shame, though there was nothing in this room to bring him pain. He should have gone back for her; he should have argued more with Ruse to bring Hal with them. He should never have left her retrieval to someone else, especially someone he did not know and therefore could not trust. She was John’s wife, for pity’s sake. He had taken an oath to honor and protect her, and how had he done that tonight?

Had he vowed to love her as well? The memory of their unconventional wedding ceremony was hazy at best, considering its circumstances and his attitude surrounding it. He had no way to be sure if Weaver and Tailor had kept to the proper tradition of Anglican marriage ceremonies, or if they had adapted the service to be a more businesslike and legal transaction.

He hadn’t loved her then, but he certainly loved her now, and he wouldn’t sleep until he knew she was safe.

He pushed himself up from the bed and began to pace, agitation coursing over and through him in waves until he seemed to be drowning in it. Struggling for breath though there were no words to assign to the thoughts causing such sensations.

Ange.

Her name repeated over and over in his mind, a cadence to his body and mind that, for the moment, was his only anthem and prayer.

All he could consider.

Somehow, a sound broke through the frenzy of his thoughts, made him pause a step, his frame frozen as every hair stood on end, straining to hear it again.

He didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare blink.

Then he heard it, something beyond his room, and, if possible, beyond the parlor, too.

The unmistakable sound of a hinge squeaking.

John moved with more speed than he would have thought possible if he’d been thinking. He wrenched open the connecting door to the parlor and stared at the closed door opposite him. He braced his arms on the doorframe, waiting, hoping…

A moment later, it opened, and there stood the blessed form of his wife. Well and whole, still in her ballgown, her hair half loosed, eyes wide, and gaping at him. She was completely and utterly perfect.

Somehow, a weak laugh escaped from the center of John’s chest, and Hal shuddered a gasp, the sound carrying across the distance with startling ease.

Then they were moving, eyes locked on each other, their pace increasing with each step.

A broken sob passed Hal’s lips as she leapt at him, and John caught her up in his arms, clutching her to him without shame.

“Oh, John,” Hal gasped, her arms folding tightly about his neck. “Oh, heavens, you’re safe.”

John could only shake